Thursday, April 30, 2009

Allow me, if you will, to deviate from the current theme of my posts - my failures/successes at life and my endless search for a job. I cannot yet say that I am employed because I have not heard back from Nordstrom. They said I would surely hear from them yesterday, but it was not to be. This can mean one of the following things:

1) They haven't gotten around to it yet, but will do so soon.2) They are interviewing other candidates.3) I didn't get the job.4) The manager saw something horrible in me, but didn't let on during our interview (I guess this one ties in to #3).

I am hoping that I will soon hear from them because she did say that I would be contacted pending a conversation with the two other people who interviewed me and not something vague like, "we'll get back to you." Although, I would not be at all surprised if I don't get this job either. It does seem to be the trend. Damn my bad habit of getting my hopes up!

Let's be honest, I have no real skills. I'm basically a talentless charmer*. I've gotten by on my personality alone. I've just come to this realization. I always curse those bastards who get what they want solely because of their charisma, but I (to an extent) am one of them. Take my first Union Bank interview, for example. Even though I lost to a current employee, I beat out the 9 other candidates who were immensely qualified. I competed against people with banking experience, math majors, a dude on his way to becoming a CEO one day, and other people with perfect resumes. If I were them and knew I had been the first choice (once removed), I would hate me.

*sigh* Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself. And besides, there's still the possibility of getting that Union Bank job. Oh, Jeebus, let there still be the possibility of getting one of these jobs.

Now that that has been cleared, let me get back to my original idea. As you know, I am a theatre geek. Seeing as I have no one to discuss theatre with anymore (my Boston friend Lauren was the only one who could match my knowledge of all things theatre), I will occasionally use this blog to rant or rave about said subject. Only occasionally because I will not risk losing you, dear readers. We can all agree that theatre aficionados are few and far between. I've often wondered if I would love having a girlfriend who's into theatre as much as me. It would quickly become an expensive relationship. I would much prefer a girl with good taste in food. Food is my deal breaker; if you have crap taste in food, then you're cut. I simply could not deal with a girl (or person, for that matter) who considers Outback Steakhouse or Bertucci's/Olive Garden fine or delicious cuisine.

I know. I know. I'm rambling. And I may have also offended some readers by badmouthing their favorite restaurants. Sorry.

All I wanted to actually discuss was the upcoming revival of Bye Bye Birdie. I don't particularly like the show, though there are some catchy and enjoyable tunes. But I still have an opinion on it. It has come to my attention that they released some of the cast information, and I am livid. First, they have John Stamos playing male lead Albert. It seems like such random casting. Why Stamos? A perfect Albert would have been Brooks Ashmanskas! He is an underused talent (LOVED him in She Loves Me) who would be an inspired choice for playing the cowardly mama's boy. And then there's the matter of having Gina Gershon playing Rosie. Why can we not cast a Latina to play a Latina character?? Get Karen Olivo to play Rosie. She's already doing a fantastic job of playing a role originally created by Chita Rivera (Anita in West Side Story), so why not have her rock out this feisty Chita role (Chita Rivera was also the original Rosie) too? Nothing against Gershon as she made a pretty good Sally Bowles in the Cabaret revival, but the producers seriously should have just cast an actual Latina. Gah!

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Ron rightly reminded me that it is indeed tomorrow, so I should tell you how my interviews went.

Well, readers, they went very well. Too well, I think. Allow me to explain.

I went to the interview with Union Bank. It was a great interview. We talked for an hour. I knew right away that this was a manager I wanted to work for. I could tell that I would have a great working experience in the sense that I would be taught a lot as well as being among a good group of people. I have a feeling he might offer me the job. The manager mentioned that one of his employees had no banking experience whatsoever but hired her because he liked her as a person. At the end of my interview he told that he loved my personality and thought I was an out-of-the-box thinker who could be very coachable. I'll find out next week about his decision.

From there I went to my second Nordstrom interview; this time with the BP shoes department manager. The interview went very well. I was shown around the back room and introduced to some of the employees. Incidentally, one of my "future" co-workers is really cute. She and I had a total connection when our eyes met. She wanted me as much as I wanted her. Or at least that's the way it played out in my head.

Anyway, back to the interview. He had me do some role-playing. Luckily, he had me "sell" him some men's shoes - casual and business. He probably expected me to do fairly, but little did he know that I am an avid GQ reader and What Not to Wear viewer. I had him tell me where he will be going and what he plans on wearing. From there I recommended the appropriate footwear and what would best match his planned outfits. There was a salesperson in men's shoes who was listening in to my pitch and told the manager, "If you don't want him, I'll take him for my department." I did brilliantly. Lol.

After it was all over he told me to stick around because in 20 minutes I would be having a third interview, but this time with the store manager. That one lasted about 15 minutes. I mean, how much more could they ask me that they hadn't already? I basically regurgitated information for the third time. I find out about this job tomorrow.

So you may have deduced my predicament. I will surely get the Nordstrom job. Unfortunately, I think I want the Union Bank job. It will have less hours and I'll only initially make more at this job, but it's a team I want to be a part of. *sigh* I shouldn't be stupid though. The better opportunity for growth and income is at Nordstrom. If I get offered the position, I should take it. Right?

Monday, April 27, 2009

I had an interview today with Nordstrom to, supposedly, work in their men's apparel section. After my last day at Toys R Us I shouted to the heavens, "As god as my witness, I will never work retail again!" Scarlet would have been proud. But that was before I left the world of academia and entered a world of economic turmoil. I can no longer afford to be choosy. I'm applying everywhere and hoping somebody somewhere takes me on.

But back to Nordstrom. I said I was supposedly interviewing for men's apparel. That is the department that claimed to be hiring, but, as it turns out, the only departments in need are women's shoes. Then why, I wonder, do they put up ads for departments that have no need for new employees? The interview went very well. I was all smiles and charm. I was looking pretty damn good (to hell with modesty. I need all the confidence boosters I can get... even if they come from me. But seriously, I noticed a head or two turning to glance my way). And I was spouting out so much BS you needed to boots to talk to me. I was a man with a plan.

Apparently, working at Nordstrom is no walk in the park. You start off as a temp, then you may get promoted to a regular employee in whatever department needs help, and then, after 6 months, you may just prove yourself worthy enough to be transferred to the department of your choice. So, assuming I get this job, you'll find me selling men's clothing sometime next May.

Anyway, the interview indeed went well because I was chosen for a second interview. I had not yet completed the drive home (25 mins or so) when I received a call from the women's shoe department at Nordstrom. He said I impressed the interviewer and that they would like to meet with me. So that is scheduled for tomorrow. And there is still the possibility that they'll require me to interview a third time. They really take themselves seriously don't they?

Speaking of tomorrow... I also have an interview with Union Bank. This will actually be my third time interviewing for this company. First I had a group interview and a one-on-one with a branch. I thought that interview went very well, but I obviously didn't get the job. But the kind recruiting lady said she'd find me another job opportunity. She kept her word. Moreover, she said I was what the company needed and that she would keep looking until they placed me.

What was really interesting was what she had to say about my first one-on-one interview. Turns out I was spectacular. I would have gotten the job, but then they decided to hire internally instead to avoid having to train someone new. "That's what companies are doing nowadays," she said. Then what was the point of my interviewing for that job or going in tomorrow? Also, she told me the branch manager thought I'd be perfect for the management training program. Considering I have no banking experience, I took that as a huge compliment.

So we'll see what happens tomorrow. Hopefully one of the two interviews results in a job. If, for some bizarre reason, both want to hire me (which I highly doubt), then I'll flip a coin to decide which job I take.

Guilty pleasures [TV] -- requires more than a top 31) What Not to Wear2) Say Yes to the Dress3) Project Runway/Top Chef/Shear Genius4) Cartoons (I'm still a kid at heart)5) Platinum Weddings/Bridezillas/Who's Wedding is it Anyway?

Favorite TV shows -- requires more than a top 31) Pushing Daisies2) Fraiser3) Golden Girls4) The Simpsons5) Gilmore Girls/Charmed/Xena (gone, but will never be forgotten) -- would also fall under guilty pleasures

Favorite words -- there are more than these 3, but I just can't think of them at the moment.1) Bosom (fast or slow, the word sounds funny and tickles the tongue)2) Indubitably (fun to say and it reminds me of Mary Poppins)3) Blasphemy

OCD habits:1) Collect all my fortune cookie fortunes. Furthermore, I believe you CANNOT open it until you feel you are completely finished eating your food and you MUST eat all the cookie or your fortune won't come true. I also believe that the first cookie you touch is yours (as in when you are eating Chinese food in a group); if you touch one cookie and then decide to grab another, then the fortunes are null and void.2) Cannot begin eating my plate of food until I rotate the dish into what I deem is the correct alignment. For example, the chicken needs to be on the left or the fries have to be at a specific angle from my right hand.3) Proper location and methods for all things. Toothpaste HAS to be pushed down from the end and NOT from the middle or items involved in shaving must be placed in order of usage before I can begin shaving. All my belongings have a proper place and it aggravates me when they are put in their incorrect location (e.g. iPod goes in the right side of the glove compartment, phone sits in the left cup holder, flip flops are always to the right of my sneakers, etc.)

I could go on like this forever, so I'll just stop now. Don't know why I began this list to begin with anyway. Just felt like doing it.

This post should really go under a new category -- Things I overheard TWICE.

Though I have recently been spending more time at the same Starbucks, I like to switch it up every now and then. Today I am at a different Starbucks. I am listening to an off-the-clock employee talking about her life with some old man and his friend. They struck up a conversation because he had asked her if she was watching her weight (she was buying a fruit and cheese plate). "Are you saying I'm fat?" she replied. "No! Oh God, no!" he quickly answered.

I thought this would result in a humorous confrontation, but it ended with her sitting down with the man and his friend. Turns out I know this girl. And by know I mean that I have listened in on her conversation before. This is not her first time telling her life story.

Sidenote-- two small children have just sat at the table next to me. *shudder* I hate kids. Oh god, they've started coughing up a storm. Now not only am I annoyed, I am going to get infected with their child germs. Why do bad things always happen to me?

*sigh* Ok. Back to the story. This girl starts telling a story about her prior drug problems.

"What did you used to do?" asked the man.

"Cocaine," she answered nonchalantly. As if she used to have a problem with watching too much TV and not a hardcore drug.

She explains all the drugs she used to do (there were a lot of them) and how it helped her overcome her depression. The conversation then turns to the men trying to explain her fall into drugs. They say it's because she probably had a bad childhood. She disagrees because she claims to have a great childhood. They go back and forth about why kids turn to drugs, but come to no agreement.

So I have now listened to her story for the second time. The same thing that intrigued me last time intrigues me this time as well. She talks very casually about her experiences. Bravo for her, but does she really need to share her personal problems with the world? I realize that I'm doing the same thing by blogging, but I'm different. For one thing, I like to think that I don't share the same story over and over again. She can't rest on her drug laurels forever. Eventually she's going to need a new story to tell. Maybe she can take up prostitution and drop that. Or run a white slavery ring and then see the error of her ways. That might be fun.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

I am currently shaking my fist at the heavens (not literally because that would be weird). I've been committing far too many stupid mistakes.

First, I was dumb enough to not go to my usual stylist to get my hair cut. Instead I went to Supercuts and told the lady, who I assumed to be on the up and up, to have her way with me. "All I ask for is short on the sides and back," I said to her. I figured she would know what would look best with my face shape and such. The woman had me sitting in the chair for 30 minutes (I clocked it) and I left with a crap haircut. It's neither long nor short, and there is no discernible style to it. Also, the back is too long (she didn't show me the back and I forgot to ask). The sides aren't even. I had somewhere to be afterwards, so I couldn't even tell her to fix it. I didn't trust her anymore anyway. I'll probably go to Toni & Guy or the like tomorrow to get it fixed.

Next I left for the mall to return something for my mother, but forgot the offending clothes at home. So I had to return and then head off again. I actually did this "Shit! I forgot _________" twice today.

Then I ordered an iced chai latte, but forgot to say I wanted it nonfat. Ugh. I can taste the cow.

It's only the middle of the day, so who knows what other clumsy mistakes I'll make today.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

My dad had the day off and everything fell into alignment. In other words, there was nothing to stop us from spending the day together. I rarely get to spend any time with my father. If we do spend time together, it's never just the two of us. My father takes a day off once every blue. Then one or more of the following occur:

- He has errands to run- He actually only has the morning off- My sister is with us- My sister monopolizes all of his time or he spends the day with her instead (this one is the most common)- He's tired and doesn't want to do anything (rarer, but it has happened)

This time was different. My sister was at school and wasn't getting out until just before she had to go to work. There were no errands.

We went out for breakfast. I took offense to our waitress asking my father if he wanted "fresas" with his pancakes. I took offense because we were clearly speaking English to her, so why ask if he wanted "fresas" instead of strawberries? Maybe I made something out of nothing, but it bothered me. Then I ranted about an article in the paper. "This is what's passing for writing these days!?" (as if I'm 80). "There are 3 different stories in this one article!" "Where the hell does this guy get off making these kinds of comparisons? Idiot!" "How is this man still writing and I can't even start!" And other such cute musings.

From there we went over to the nail salon. Yes, you read correctly. My dad and I went to the nail salon. He needed a manicure (don't judge) and wanted to reward my progressing recovery with a much needed pedicure. My toes, like my hair and other aspects of my physical appearance, were also victims of my emotional state. Mock me, if you must, for being a fan of pedicures and manicures (the latter only when I'm feeling supremely lazy or feel like being pampered to relieve stress). But let me tell you this. Real men are secure enough to get manicures/pedicures. Those wonderful Vietnamese women scrub, massage, and soak my troubles away. So now my toes look great again and the world is slightly brighter -- literally and figuratively.

Newly beautified, the two Hernandez men headed off to the mall. My parents are going to Mexico for my cousin's wedding (they normally wouldn't go, but the cousin in question is very close with my dad and they'd offered to pay for the wedding) and he needed some last minute things. We picked out a wedding present (a really nice picture frame). Gifts for the kids (I basically chose outfits that I would dress my kid ins. I'm sure you can imagine what kind of outfits I put together). And a shirt and tie combo for my dad. He needs to match my mother's dress, so I helped him pick out a slim-cut light blue DKNY dress shirt with an appropriately patterned matching tie. Wow. How gay do I sound (as if the part about the nail salon wasn't bad enough)? Nay, it is merely an exercise in applied knowledge (why read all those GQs and watch all those shows about fashion if I'm not going to use what they teach?).

And the piece de resistance: good food. We came back to the house and I prepared some filet mignon and shrimp. The shrimp were simply cooked and served on the side. The steaks (cooked medium-rare, of course) I marinated in a bath of Worcestershire sauce, salt, pepper, and garlic salt. Nothing takes the edge off like some delicious food, especially my comfort food -- steak.

Friday, April 17, 2009

Yesterday took me back. As I mentioned in my previous entry, I got a reviewing assignment from my local paper. For one brief shining moment I was my old self again.

Words cannot express the joy I felt calling in for a press pass. I admit that it felt so good having people once again treat me like the most important person on the planet. Ah, the joy of holding someone's reputation in your hands. I felt a bit nervous driving to the campus, but fell right back into my comfort zone once I was led to my reserved seat and the show started. When I got home, my mom asked me how it went. I faked nonchalance, saying that it was nothing I hadn't done before. But on the inside, oh what a tingling sensation of excitement. If only for that one night, I was a theatre critic once more.

It was bizarre being on my old high school campus, though. I found myself looking around as I walked away from the parking lot. I saw my old lunch spot (Brandon, remember I pointed it out when we were watching Brick?) and a few other places I used haunt. I was flooded with memories. Yes, this was the place that hosted 4 years of my life that I have worked very hard to forget. But the flashbacks were neither good nor bad. Just memories. Movies in my mind.

To add insult to injury, I felt so old and out of place among the horde of teenage whipper snappers. Luckily, a familiar face made me forget all my insecurities (sidenote-- was going to use the word 'trepidation' but opted not to. I avoid the word ever since a professor mocked a student for using it in an article, "Trepidation? How Victorian of you!"). My French teacher of 3 years had come to see the show as well. It was great seeing that intelligent, beautiful, and oh so witty woman (would you say that describes you well enough, Alizadeh?). I've stayed in contact with her all these years, but I haven't seen her in quite a while. I'm rather ashamed to say that I don't remember the last time we spoke in person. Scratch that. It just came to me. It was at Nordstrom's. I was shopping with my sister and she was shopping with her mom. See, my memory is none to shabby. Now if I can just learn to remember birthdays and phone numbers.

If that wasn't enough, I also ran into my AP Euro and AP Psych teachers. In fact, they were seated next to me. They were great people, so I was happy to see them again. Unfortunately, my psych teacher didn't remember me. That's a shame, since I loved him and his class. I don't hold it against him because I forget people I meet the day prior (e.g. had lunch and great conversation with this girl, the next night she knocks on my door and I have no idea who she is. Needless to say, that connection went nowhere).

As a conclusion to my glimmer of hope story, I received an email from the editor of the paper. He thought my work was outstanding (I still got it! Thanks, Blanche). I felt, and still feel when I think about it, like I did after attending my first press night.

And now for something completely different. I had a job interview today, and it was the strangest interview I've ever had. It was at a pharmacy that also sells beds, wheelchairs, etc. to retirement homes, hospitals, and so on. First off, I ended up wearing the exact same thing as one of the pharmacists. I kid you not. Black leather loafers. Charcoal pin-stripe pant. White dress shirt. Navy blue sweater vest. The only exception was that he was wearing a bow tie and I was not. It was rather funny actually.

"We're twins! Hey, Armando. Look at my twin," he said.

"You have great taste," I joked back.

"But you're missing the bow tie."

"That's a great bow tie, too."

"It is, isn't it?"

It was. It got me thinking. How would I look in a bow tie? Or maybe an ascot? Why not go completely over the edge with my pseudo East Coast persona?

But back to the interview. I've never been in a situation where the interviewer is convincing me to not take the job and try to find a better opportunity. "We don't pay that much. You can't make a living off of it. I can't even make a living. And you won't get benefits. No one here gets benefits. I don't even get benefits, and I'm the owner. I don't know why anyone would want this job. *sigh* But call me on Tuesday if you are still interested in the position," she told me in a listless and depressing tone.

Her next comment was also interesting: "You look hot. And you're dressed identically to [one of my pharmacists]. You look too good to be going for this job. You should be going for [the pharmacist's] job."

I left that interview so confused as to what had just happened. Although, I know I do not want the job.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

The title for this Berto Blog post says it all. Today I received glimmers of hope and validation.

First, the biggest news. I received a freelance reviewing assignment! Admittedly, it's not a major production but it's an assignment nonetheless. I'll be reviewing my old high school's production of Anything Goes for my local paper. I asked for some sign that I have worth, and I received it. I'm a theatre critic again!

Second, the quirky news. A Canadian blog that serves up the "best of the web" (I can only assume since thee is blog description anywhere) republished one of my posts. The only difference is that it seems someone translated it into French (though I can't find it in French) and then used the translation to translated it back into English. See for yourself. I suppose I should be upset for one of my posts being taken without permission or acknowledgment, but I'm not. I find it kinda funny, especially since it looks like it's been rewritten by a non-English speaker using a thesaurus.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Two posts in one day. I still haven't had the energy to get a haircut, but I'm counting the urge to write twice in one day as improvement.

I was actually going to write about something else, but this was just too odd not to mention.

An old man said the following to his equally old friends: "I'm going to go home and lay in ice."

!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

Is that normal? His friends didn't find this strange in the least. So am I to assume he does this often? Is "laying in ice" his thing? Or is it some strange euphemism I don't get?

And speaking of euphemism, the actual subject of my post....

First, some background. Every Monday and Wednesday morning (don't ask. It's just our routine) my sister and I go to the same Starbucks to get a croissant and our caffeine fix (again, don't ask. It's just routine). Needless to say, the morning staff for that particular Starbucks consider us "regulars" and know "our usual."

Those of you who read The Berto Blog (because I'm not physically talking to anyone. Still not mentally ready for actual social interaction with friends) know what I am going through. That being said, I haven't been able to really laugh and smile. Until today....

My sister always orders a tall peppermint mocha, but today she got a grande. When one of our usual baristas was handing my sister's drink to her, she commented on this change:

"You got a big one!"

Without a second's pause or a spoken word, my sister and I look at each other and start cracking up. I haven't laughed like that (or at all, to be honest) in quite a while. The two of us had the exact same thought (those who know me can easily guess what what thought was):

"That's what she said!"

How obvious it is that I've corrupted my sister. I've made her a That's What She Said-er.

Didn't take much to be honest. Our father has been filling our minds with healthy (if you can call it that) doses of double entendres and sexual innuendos since Day 1. My father claims that he has done this to prevent us from being naive about the ways of the world; one time he gave us a personal story to explain his logic, but I won't be sharing it because it is far too disgusting. Even I have my limits. I've shared sexual stories involving my parents before, but this story is just plain gross..... although, he did share this story in a public place where anyone (well, any Spanish speaker) could have overheard. Ever wonder why I have no shame? I get it from my dad.

"Jews are God's chosen people. Whether they believe in him or not, they will go to paradise." - some old guy talking to those unfortunate enough to choose the seats next to him.

Congratulations, Jews. Apparently, you're going to heaven just for being you.

I'll wave to you from hell. I'll be eating nought but burning hot coals and drinking nought but burning hot cola, but at least I won't be bored for all eternity. The great works of literature* agree: "Heaven blows" (I may be paraphrasing here, but it's the gist of the conclusion).

Someone should really tell the Christians, Catholics, and the rest that they won't be the only ones up there with the king of kings (or is that Jesus' title? Either way, the original followers clearly never read about Ozymandias before bestowing that title).

And this concludes your lesson in blasphemy.

Sacriliciously yours,

- R

* I am clearly excluding the bible from this list. It's not that much of a list anyway. Well, it's not really a list at all. It consists of Piers Anthony's "And Eternity" (not actually a great work [or even literature], but it's a damn good series that I've reread several times) and Dante's "Paradiso" (it's painstakingly boring). Although, to be honest, I don't consider the bible a great work of literature at all. If it's not required reading for an English major, then it doesn't count.

The above words are the lyrics to "I Got Life" from the 1967 rock musical Hair. When you have nothing, like the hippie characters in this musical, it is wise to remember that you still have life. Everything is superficial, life is all that matters. Lately I've been trying to force myself to absorb this meaning and take it to heart. Unfortunately, I just can't seem to get the words to stick.

Is the simple fact that one is alive enough? Is it just foolish optimism?

I started writing a post a while back, but never published it. Though having made great strides since my younger days, I still have an issue with full disclosure..... especially when it relates to something negative. I titled the post "What's the point?" and that truly is the question: What is the point?

Here's that post:

------It's time to face the truth....

I fail at life. That is the simple truth.

I picked a career that is on its deathbed. Combine that fact with our current economic hell, and there is little to no hope of being a professional journalist any time soon.

But the fun doesn't stop there. I also can't seem to get a job to save my life. Any kind of job. I've lost count of how many times I should have died if my life did indeed depend on my becoming employed. I am either rejected or am deemed unworthy to even interview.

My own funds are gone and I am completely dependent on my parents. Want to have fun? Have to ask parents for money. Hungry? Have to have mommy and daddy feed me. I have regressed to infancy.

Life has become pointless. I simply do not see the point in even trying. I've stopped caring about how much weight I gain. My hair is growing into a long, shaggy mop; I'm quickly starting to look like I plan on auditioning for the Broadway revival of Hair. Today I stopped seeing the purpose of shaving since I have no one to impress.

Would I like someone to impress? Not really. Physical satisfaction would be nice, but I have no desire to invest in (or even pretend to care about) someone else's life. ------

My parents ask me if I want money to get a haircut. I say "Don't bother. It doesn't matter." They ask why I haven't shaved. "What's the point?" I say. What is the point of taking care of my appearance? Who cares what people think when they see me. No need to look good. It's not like I'm going on countless interviews.

I've sunken into a depression I swore I would never return to. Yet this one is different from the one that nearly destroyed me in high school. I feel completely useless. I'm living like a bum, so why not look like one as well.

This blog is my only communication with the outside world. I haven't spoken with friends in far too long; haven't even spoken with Mariana in 4 weeks. Would probably stop writing if I wasn't told to remain attached to the world of the living.

*sigh* But I don't want you all to think this is a cry for help. You wanted to know what is going on my life, so that is what I'm giving you. I managed to survive my first battle with depression, and I'll eventually beat this one too. At least this time around I'm getting help, so I'm halfway there.

Anyway, let us come full circle. Back to those lyrics. At the moment they aren't helping me much, but I hope they do something for you.

Thursday, April 9, 2009

A couple (a pair might be a better word because I'm not sure if the guy is gay or simply European) is sitting across from me, trying to define passion or sexual attraction. Or rather, the older looking girl is trying to get the pretty (really, the best word to describe him) foreign guy to define the term(s).

She says it's a feeling. A feeling you get if, for example, she kissed him. Or if she runs her hand over his arm or torso (both of which she does).

He giggles, and argues that it isn't a feeling.

"Then what is it?," she asks.

"I don't know," he says.

"It's a feeling," she insists.

"No. It isn't," he replies.

"Then what is it?" she continues asking.

Their interaction goes on like this. With constant attempts at definition and her running her hand over him and holding his hands.

It's all very strange. The reason being that it all seems rather forced. It does not seem like a natural coupling. They could very well be a fag hag (with an annoying, nasally laugh, I might add) and the bi-curious guy she is trying to convert to heterosexuality.

Sidenote-- Sorry for the lack of updates. I haven't felt like writing lately. Haven't felt like doing much of anything lately.

Cheers,

- R

UPDATE-- She referred to him as her friend. Curiouser and curiouser...

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

It's fascinating the amount and type of business that occurs in public places.

I'm currently listening to a father work out a visitation schedule with a child welfare agent. It's a new set-up because she is just meeting the child. "I'm going to be your new friend. We'll be going together every time you go see your mom," she said.

Here's the deal....

Biological mother had problem with alcohol and drugs. She has two other kids, both from different relationships. None of the kids live with her because the woman has a history of being abusive. Biological dad was arrested for assault. Adoptive/step-dad (can't really tell which) does not want him near her, but is allowing mother monitored visitation. But if monitor even suspects substance use (e.g. slurred speech), the visitation rights will be immediately retracted.

No overnight visits will be allowed. If they are at a theme park and it's a 2-person ride, either no one goes on it or the child goes on with the monitor. The monitor will go to the bathroom with the girl, and vice-versa. And so on...

Moreover, the monitor has aspirations to start her own center rather than just being an employee. Also, she is getting certified in drug/alcohol counseling so she can better understand and help her clients.

It is seriously intriguing just how much information people are comfortable sharing/discussing in a place where anyone can hear what they're saying. Do they think that people will actually mind their own business? If you're going to disclose sensitive information in a public space, then at least try to do it in hushed tones. They're lucky I'm only a harmless gossip.

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This blog is a collection of my (mostly) humorous musings on any and all subjects, personal or otherwise. I also take requests; I'll write more about the subjects my readers find entertaining (e.g. Things I Overheard, my adventures in London, etc.).
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